Author's Note:
I still don't own Final Fantasy, dagnabbit!
Chapter Five
Broken
After leaving Aeris and Kalm behind, Vincent began to reflect on the decision. He wondered if it really had been the smart thing to do. For too long he had maintained his distance, staying away from humanity in order to keep the beast within himself away from the world outside. He had kept his own private pain to himself, locked in a coffin.
And now it was all done. The path to the end had begun with the death of Hojo. Sephiroth's end was another necessary step. His own confrontation with the beasts within him had brought almost a feeling of peace, even if he could still feel Chaos lurking somewhere inside of him. And now, with Lucrecia gone, it was all finally over.
No, not over. Not yet.
His chest ached, and he had trouble breathing. The bullet wound he had taken to the chest from Lucrecia had taken its toll. Throwing himself into the Lifestream had been the only thing that had saved him, but it hadn't been enough. The life giving energies had helped seal the wound, but only on the outside. He could still feel the bullet inside of him. And worse -- it was a Mako slug. Or at least, he suspected as much. He could feel it slowly poisoning his body and his mind. Soon, he would begin to lose sense of what was happening around him, and go into a delirious state, until finally it shut down and left his body to its own devices.
So this is it. This is how it ends.
He smiled to himself. How appropriate. A long, dramatic death from an old injury. He would die alone, no one even knowing what had befallen him. He would eventually be forgotten, a shadow of a memory to only those who had been in his companions in the fight against Sephiroth.
Not even they would truly miss him. He had been a comrade-in-arms, and that was all. Unlike the rest of them, he had not been a part of the group. He had purposely set himself apart from the others, ensuring that there would be no ties to be broken in the likely event of his death, or self-imposed exile.
Exile. The coffin. It had kept him alive, whole, unaged for thirty years. Maybe if he just returned.... Shuddering, he pushed that thought away. What kind of life would that be? Dreaming past nightmares for eternity, he would never be allowed to live, only exist. No, he would not return to the coffin. Death was preferable.
But where to go? He mused at the idea of going to Lucrecia's waterfall like he had told Aeris he would. But the idea was repulsive, yet attractive at the same time. He longed to go where Lucrecia had made her home... but at the same time, he did not want to go to the place that his killer had lived.
Crouching down on a rock, he surveyed the plains. Once desolate, the ground was now newly covered in vibrant grass. Animals would return to this land soon. Nature would claim what man had stolen.
Yes. This was as good a place as any. But he wouldn't die slowly. The Mako poisoning was taking too long.
It was all over. Revenge had been sated and justice done. Sephiroth had been stopped. Even Lucrecia was gone. There was nothing left.
Drawing Death Penalty from its holster, Vincent looked it over and smiled sadly. The weapon he had carried as a Turk, so proud of it. Taken from him when Hojo had decided to play God and make him into a living experiment. And given back to him by Lucrecia. The gun had proven itself many times.
Just one last person to kill. And then... we part ways.
Kneeling down, he pointed the barrel under his chin, and placed his finger over the trigger.
End it. End it now. Don't let the poison get you. Die like a man.
Slowly, he tightened his finger's grip around the trigger. This was it. He was really going to do it.
Lucrecia, my love... I come to join you.
Thoughts of Aeris' death came to him, Sephiroth descending from above, sword striking down. He thought of the Highwind crashing into Shin Bahamut, of Cid's death. Both had died for something. Their deaths had meant something. They didn't die because they had wanted to. They had died for a cause, for friends, for something more than themselves.
Vincent hurled Death Penalty away in disgust.
He was not going to kill himself. He may very well die, but he was not going to do Lucrecia's work for her. No, if he died, he'd do it trying to live.
He didn't think of the consequences, or about the intelligence of his rash plan. He merely acted. Quickly discarding his cape and shirt, he flexed his metal hand, and extending one finger, sliced along his rib cage. Wincing, he suppressed the urge to cry out. Blood spilled down his chest. Working the skin open with his claw, he began to carefully feel around, slowly digging at the bullet lodged in his rib.
His mind was beginning to feel numb, the pain in his chest already disappearing. And cold. So much cold. Shock, more than likely. Or just as likely, the Mako poisoning beginning to enter the fatal stage. Had it been left untended for that long?
With a scream that spoke of torture, part that of a man, part amplified by the beast within, a scream that rippled all across the plains of Midgar, eachoing across mountains, Vincent found the offending bullet and ripped it free. The bullet left his hand immediately, sailing away from him through the air.
Collapsing, he fumbled at the Materia on his metal arm, looking for the green orb which indicated a Restore Materia. Wrenching it loose, he tried to focus his pain-numbed and poisoned mind on the sphere, trying desperately to summon the concentration required to summon up the healing he now desperately needed. His mind reached out, touching the essence of the Materia orb, calling on the knowledge of the Ancients and.... nothing happened.
He had done everything correctly, a motion he had done so many times before without thinking. Why wasn't it working?
He tried again, calling up a force of will he had always doubted, and focused on the orb. It glowed faintly green, then faded. Nothing happened again. No cure.
Swallowing a howl of frustration, he tried again. The third try yielded a brighter light, but still no affect.
I am not going to die.
It was then, in the distance, that he heard the cry of some massive monster. Holding his wound with his normal hand, Vincent cast a searching glance about, looking for anything that might pose a threat. And there, in the distance, was a Behemoth. Probably a left over from Jenova's call for help. The former Turk looked down at the wound and swore. It had probably been attracted by his scream and the smell of blood.
Trying a final time to summon up the power of the Materia orb, once more Vincent was met with failure. Something was horribly wrong. But what, he didn't know.
Falling, Vincent began to slowly crawl to where Death Penalty lay. He needed the gun if he was to have any chance of surviving. His metal hand grasped around blindly about the tall grass while his other hand held his life's blood within himself.
I am not going to die! Damn you, I won't die! Not after all this!
He could feel the beast rushing to the surface. Chaos was taking over. He swallowed, and tried to force it back down. He would not let it control him. Chaos was unpredictable, given to violent impulses. He wasn't sure what would happen if he let it take over him.
But, as he futily searched for his weapon, he knew it was the only chance he had.
So he surrendered.